Story of teh Day 2/ 16/ 2009

Sleep is important.

Unfortunately, I often don't' get enough. Usually, my own fault. Coffee a bit late in the day, but that I felt I needed to be alert for driving home from painting., a book that just couldn't' be put down, some problem with the Deaf School that won't let my brain settle down.
Okay, maybe the last one isn't my fault.

When you don't' get enough sleep, you feel like shit.
And this feeling like shit is one of the reasons that people wind up going in for sleep studies. Or lack of sleep studies.
They are in search of help so they can sleep and feel better.Hospitals make good money with sleep clinics. Places that people go to sleep or not sleep, and where they are observed, their brain waves are measured ,and their eyeballs scanned, and ….
Okay, I am making that up- or at least, participating in conjecture, since I have never been part of a sleep study.

Unfortunately one of my friends has.

Thursday.
Not this past Thursday, but a few weeks ago, on a Thursday.
She checked herself in at St. V's.
St. V's is a nice local hospital with a good reputation.
And, she tried to sleep.
A few things interfered. Not a deviated septum.Not an excessive amount of caffeine in her system.
RatherA heavy snorer in the next room.
Of course, he was also having a sleep study. And he was managing to sleep. At least when he wasn't calling the tech to come help him to the bathroom (in a sleep study they connect you to about 37,000 electrodes so you can't just get up), he did this several times (maybe there was a prostate problem too?)
And Stacie could hear it all including the toilet flushing!
She was hoping that eventually the rhythm of his heavy snoring would fade into background noise , and maybe even be incorporated into her dreams. That and a feeling of being cold.
Of course, she figured, the cold must be part of the sleep study- maybe it helps them to figure out something. Maybe it is optimal for the room to be cool. But she was used to sleeping in a cozy bed, so it interfered with her falling asleep.
After finding an extra blanket she finally called the technicion who checked the thermostat only to find that they had forgotten to turn the heat on in the room!
Then came the beeping: it came in concert with the snoring next door.
That was it, she finally called to ask if they had any earplugs, it was 4:27 a.m. When the tech came in Stacie asked what the beeping sound was.

The tech said: "What does it sound like?"
If I were her, I would probably not have been able to do this with a straight face, but Stacie is made of stronger stuff than I am.

"Beep…..Beep….Beep."

As it happens, her sleep study was scheduled the night after the big snow storm, so , all night, the snow plows were going back and forth and back and forth in the hospital's parking lot- outside her window. And beeping.
Beep….. Beep….. Beep.

Friday morning, eventually, arrived.And the sleep study, which had turned into a sleep deprivation study, was mercifully over.
Because she had communicated her unhappiness to the tech it was suggested she fill out the survey on the table - of course it wasn't there and she had to go and ask for one - which she proceeded to fill with her opinion of her stay. . .

And, within only a few days, she had, more or less, recovered from the experience.
They were nice enough to tell her they were not going to charge her for it.

Of course, she still needs to have asleep study done.
For some odd reason, she has decided not to go back there for it.
She is going to the facility in Carmel.
The one that only schedules two patients a night.
At opposite ends of the hall. Since, sometimes the people who need these studies the most are the ones who snore the loudest.
With no windows.

As for the other facility?
Several days ago, as some of the memories were not exactly faded from her memory, but were , at least, a bit less fresh, Stacie got a letter in the mail.
There was a Border's gift card in it.
And a note:
"We're sorry for your less than extrodinary experience …"

I suppose it depends on how you define these things.